


The Tenth Count

by Reed_Zone_Alert (Eliza_Reed)



Series: In the Wampire Hall of Fang, Yeah [2]
Category: Count Duckula
Genre: Endings With Untied Loose Ends, Fluff and Angst, Igor is kinda OOC again - sorry, Some Humor, Some Tags I Feel Conflicted About Adding So I Won't Add Them, sorry this is so short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:54:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25310062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eliza_Reed/pseuds/Reed_Zone_Alert
Summary: "Hey, Igor!” Duckula tapped on his butler’s arm. Unfazed, Igor turned his attention away from the notepad and settled his gaze on his Master. The Count didn’t wait for a response as he waved to the empty space on the wall. “Any idea what used to hang here?”Igor looked in the direction the smaller bird’s hand was now pointing in. His eyes widened imperceptibly and in a quiet, trembling voice, he muttered, “Ohno- not again!”Duckula’s expression morphed from curious to concerned. “Igor? What-”Igor quickly regained his composure and interrupted. “Milord, the painting that used to hang there is not important. Please do not concern yourself with its whereabouts. The paintings that are alr-”“Oh no- oh no no no nono!!”Duckula lifted his index finger and pressed it to Igor’s beak disapprovingly, eyebrows furrowed. “You’re not getting out ofthisso easily!"
Relationships: Count Duckula & Igor (Count Duckula)
Series: In the Wampire Hall of Fang, Yeah [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1818502
Kudos: 4





	The Tenth Count

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism is always welcome! FLAMES are not.

Duckula scowled up at the long rows of paintings lining the hall walls- he hated them. He hated them with a searing heat that could only be surpassed by his hatred of the weekly tours of this hall Igor would drag him on. Why couldn’t that stubborn old vulture see that his Master didn’t _want_ to live up to the legacy of his predecessors? Perhaps Igor _did_ see it, and just chose _not_ to _acknowledge_ it. In either case, Duckula was glad he didn’t have to listen to Igor drone on and on and on about this ancestor or that one and blah de dah. As he walked down the hall with a sour expression on his face at the thought, the Count couldn’t help but notice something odd about the wall of paintings this time.

Maybe it was because he was actually paying more attention to his surroundings instead of trying to tune Igor’s voice out.

In any case- if the lone rusty nail in the wall and the big empty space around it were anything to go by- it was clear to Duckula that a painting was more or less missing. He seemed to remember seeing that absent space there before, he just never really _noticed_ it until this moment. So they hadn’t been robbed or anything. Not that anyone in their right mind would ever want one of _those_ ugly things Igor dared to label “paintings.” Then again, nobody in Transylvania was exactly in their right minds. Still, Duckula couldn’t help but wonder what exactly it was that hung there before. Luckily, Igor happened to be passing by at that moment, scribbling down in a notepad and mumbling something about guillotines on sale.

“Hey, Igor!” Duckula tapped on his butler’s arm. Unfazed, Igor turned his attention away from the notepad and settled his gaze on his Master. The Count didn’t wait for a response as he waved to the empty space on the wall. “Any idea what used to hang here?”

Igor looked in the direction the smaller bird’s hand was now pointing in. His eyes widened imperceptibly and in a quiet, trembling voice, he muttered, “Oh _no_ \- not again!”

Duckula’s expression morphed from curious to concerned. “Igor? What-”

Igor quickly regained his composure and interrupted. “Milord, the painting that used to hang there is not important. Please do not concern yourself with its whereabouts. The paintings that are alr-”

“Oh _no_ \- oh no no no no _no!!”_ Duckula lifted his index finger and pressed it to Igor’s beak disapprovingly, eyebrows furrowed. “You’re not getting out of _this_ so easily! Now answer the question, or you won’t be a butler- you’ll be a _boot-ler_ \- haha, get it?” He chuckled at his own little- and pathetic- joke. “Cause I’ll _boot_ you outta the castle? Get it? Haha- you get it, Igor?”

“Yes, yes, quite ‘amusing’- very well, milord,” Igor grumbled unhappily. “If you insist. Follow me to the attic.”

“Aye aye, _cap’n!”_ Duckula replied, attempting to perform a salute- and in his excitement poking his eye in the process. “OW!!”

* * *

_Soon… in the attic…_

“Ugh! Geez, it smells like moldy gym socks and string cheese in here,” Duckula complained, covering his beak with his hand.

“To be more precise, milord, the odour actually consists of-”

“Igor, if the smell has something to do with _blood_ , or anything remotely like that, I really don’t wanna hear it,” the young Master cut in, his voice somewhat muffled by his hand. He was sick enough as it was from the smell. In any case, Igor went quiet as he carefully pushed aside old wooden boxes filled with small bottles- more of Nanny’s homemade sarsaparilla, no doubt. Another five minutes of his butler rummaging and Duckula busying himself by humming one of his favourite songs (it was a shame he had left his harmonica downstairs, he could be playing it right now with how long Igor was taking), and finally the silence was broken as the vulture announced with an odd note in his voice, “I have found the painting in question, sir.”

Igor stepped out of the shadowed, cobwebbed corner that he had tunneled his way to through the mess of boxes and whatnot- a medium-sized, rectangular object covered in a dry-rotting cloth clutched in his hands. By the time Igor reached the Count, the cloth was almost completely disintegrated. The butler tossed the remaining bit away, which burst into shreds upon impact with the wall.

“Well? Lemme see! Lemme _see!!”_ Duckula demanded impatiently, reaching up and snatching the painting out of Igor’s hands. He carefully brushed the dust off of the painting and stared for a moment as the faces of none other than one of his past selves and his butler greeted him. His past self- which one, Duckula couldn’t remember- was sitting down in a plushy chair, with a large glass of _you-know-what_ in hand. At his side- with a hand resting on painting Duckula’s other arm- stood Igor, who had a pleasant expression on his face.

“I don’t understand,” Duckula said, looking away from the painting and turning his attention to Igor, who was pretending to be intently studying a bottle of Nanny’s sarsaparilla. “Hey! Igor, I’m talkin’ to you!”

“Hmm?” His butler turned towards him with a blank expression on his face, as if he had no clue that his Master had said anything to him just a moment ago. “Did you say something, milord?”

“Yeah, I did!” Duckula pointed to the painting and went on, “Why would you try to hide this from me, huh??” When Igor didn’t respond, he continued, “Did… did my father know? Or my grandfather??” Igor still did not say a word, or even acknowledge that he even heard his Master’s queries. He simply folded his hands behind his back in typical Igor fashion and remained stoically silent- which only encouraged the Count to keep pressing him for information. “They didn’t know about the painting either… did they?”

“What does it matter, sir?” Igor finally spoke, averting his eyes and locking his gaze on a random cobweb tangled on the castle scaffolding. “It was centuries ago. Several centuries, in fact. And in any case, why should you be so intrigued by your predecessors’ history now? You never have been the even slightest bit interested before- not unless it benefitted your desire for ‘fame and fortune-’”

“Now don’t you start badmouthing my goals-”

“If you must know, that is the tenth Count Duckula- the second one whom I officially served under after my third reincarnation,” Igor interrupted.

“Third reincarnation- what- you-” Duckula continued to stutter for the next couple of seconds or so before he finally blurted, “I didn’t know you got reincarnated too!”

“There is much you do not know about me, milord. And I would prefer to keep it that way.” Igor reached for the painting in his Master’s hands, but Duckula wasn’t having any of it and moved it out of his butler’s reach.

“Igor, c’mon- whatever this is about, it can’t be _that_ bad!” Duckula locked eyes with Igor and saw the hurt in his butler’s eyes. What had caused it, he didn’t know- but nonetheless it twisted something in the young Master’s chest painfully. He had been hurting Igor a lot lately, what with more often than not dumping him with a new Master just so Duckula could be rich. Come to think of it, he hadn’t been all that nice to Nanny either- and she never did anything intentionally to deserve being treated like that. _Maybe,_ Duckula thought, _maybe that’s why Igor doesn’t want to talk about it…_ He looked down at the painting thoughtfully for a moment, and then hesitantly handed it back to Igor.

Igor quickly took the painting from him and shuffled back over to the corner from which he had retrieved it. Duckula silently watched his butler put the piece of artwork back, not sure what to say. “I’m sorry” certainly wouldn’t cut it, that’s for sure. But… maybe it could be a start. So when Igor had turned around, when he had stepped out of the shadows back into the dim lighting of the attic, Duckula said it.

“I’m sorry, Igor.”

“I beg your pardon, milord?” The vulture regarded him with a startled expression- he clearly hadn’t expected his Master to say that, that much was obvious.

“I said I’m sorry,” Duckula explained, looking down and picking at his sleeve. He didn’t know what else to say. What else was he supposed to say? What else could he say? There were a lot of things he was sorry for- like dumping Igor at every opportunity, for example. The only thing Duckula definitely _wasn’t_ going to apologise for was being a vegetarian- it was _his_ choice as a person and his alone. Igor was just gonna have to learn to live with it.

The young Master was startled out of his thoughts when a hand gingerly settled onto his shoulder. He looked up to meet Igor’s now somewhat concerned gaze.

“Are you alright, milord? Are you ill?” Of course. Of course Igor would think the Count was ill. Why else would he be apologising? The thought that Duckula genuinely felt bad never even crossed the butler’s mind. This revelation only made the young Master’s heart sink further.

“I’m fine, Igor,” Duckula replied softly. There was a very long pause, which was eventually broken when he asked awkwardly, “Wanna take the werewolf out for a walk? Like, you and I take him for a walk- I mean- um- I-”

“I would like that,” Igor cut in, something resembling a smile spreading across his beak. Or maybe it was a grimace. It was hard to tell. Nevertheless, Duckula brightened up at his butler’s acceptance of the offer.

“Yes!!” Duckula exclaimed happily, fist pumping the air and nearly accidentally punching Igor in the process. “I’ll go grab the leash!”

_ THE END, and good night out there- WHATEVER YOU ARE!! _


End file.
